


Relief

by Rebel_Atar



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, Mentioned D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:22:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebel_Atar/pseuds/Rebel_Atar
Summary: Sometimes Joseph Chandler needs some one else to take the weight from his shoulders.For the kinkmeme prompt: Chandler/Kent handcuffs





	Relief

The sheets were cotton, an obscenely high thread count brought from his own flat. The bed was Kent’s. Only his had a bed frame with intricate little twists of metal, from IKEA despite its appearance. The cuffs though. He couldn’t remember whose they’d used this time around, couldn’t bring himself to care either.

 

All Joe knew was that the hard, cool metal around his wrists contrasted beautifully to the feel of the soft sheets against his back and the hot pleasure that came from every crook of Kent’s fingers.

 

They’d done this a few times now. He couldn’t fret or wash his hands or count the push pins from his desk. He couldn’t do anything but lie there and writhe. His bonds and the soft words of command and praise that fell from Kent’s lips kept Joe grounded.

 

Here he had no control, but he didn’t have to have control. Kent had it for him. He’d been so surprised the first time when instead of the anticipated panic there had just been relief.

 

Here everything he shouldered was lifted by someone else. All he had to focus on was the simple ritual of following orders, and if it ever did become too much he need only say the word.

 

A shudder rippled through him as Kent twisted his wrist. He felt too good. Chandler pulled at the cuffs, back bowing as his body tried to make up its mind of whether it wanted to be closer or further away from the sweet torture of Emerson’s hands.

 

A moan tore its way from his throat. Every press, every pulse of pressure was pleasure. Was heat flushing across his skin and spasms that made his muscles shake.

 

Kent wasn’t teasing anymore, and Joe could feel his own cock dripping onto his stomach. He was going to come. He could feel it starting. Sharp gasping breaths that were let out as moans as every muscle tensed and he tossed his head back against the pillows, hips thrusting rhythmically back against perfection as he spurted messily all over his chest.

 

Kent cleaned him off with a washcloth, then went to wash his hands before undoing the cuffs and massaging some circulation back into Chandler’s wrists.

 

They were red. Raw. Kent would worry. Padded cuffs would have been better, he knew, but there was something about using their police issue ones that made the act that much more intense. It both grounded Joe and reminded him of who they both were.

 

Besides, every time he snapped an elastic band against his wrist he’d be reminded of this. Of Kent, instead of her.


End file.
